"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."C. S. Lewis

Oh, puh-leeze. It takes real talent to give such a detailed, intricate, fascinating backstory to a character who only appeared in one episode.

And all we really know about her was that she had an awful prom date that ended in regulation disappointment. Writing about this character was a little like doing a police investigation to find out, "How did she get this way?" I came up with a reasonable model of a human being, someone who became gigantically successful in the business world at the expense of everything else in her life. It stood to reason that she'd be a person who'd encountered a great deal of disappointment in her life. The last thing I wanted for her was to be a Mary Sue that succeeded at everything she did -how boring.

And as for me, I'm just a very clever ape that works well with tools...

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"When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them." Rodney Dangerfield

"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore, always carry a small snake." W. C. Fields

...Rob is back from the dead, but is it really Rob? And Morgan's drinking is beginning to raise some concerns...

On Monday morning Morgan took the time to present Jasmeel and Spencer with shiny gold medals in her office. “I wanted to give these to you in the Tulip Garden, but the guys upstairs threw a hissy-fit when I suggested it. Lord knows, I’d like to tell the world how well you did over in Russia, but it’s still basically a secret operation.” She shook their hands. “Even though you guys still give me the willies, I’m proud of you. We’ll have to do lunch again sometime.” They both thanked her and went about their way. Morgan then beckoned Father Coughlin in to her office. “Morgan, this is highly unusual – how are you holding up?” “I’m doing just fine, but I want you to do me a favor.” “Anything – just ask.” “Father, I’ve seen priests like yourself bless inanimate objects, like aircraft, boats and such.” He chuckled. “Yes, we do that on occasion. Do you have a yacht you want me to bless?” “Very funny, Father. I need you to write a memorial prayer for an android.” He gave her a confused look. “You mean, the one you called Rob…” “I know it sounds nutty, but he’s been one of my only friends here. He’s been with me day and night, guarding my door and screening my visitors. And without him, I’d probably be dead or badly injured. Can you do it?” “Well, I’ve been asked to do some unusual things. Rob was created by human hands, and we always hope and pray that those hands are guided to do good things; it seems like they’ve been well guided in this case. I’ll call you this afternoon with something.” “Thanks, Father.” Morgan picked up Rob’s positronic circuit board and gave it friendly pat as the graying priest left her office. She heard a tap on her door, and she turned to find the robotics service tech coming in with her new android. “Rob – you’re back from the dead.” The service tech answered her. “Not Rob, but even better. We were able to salvage his body, but we also installed a new positronic brain from the RVN corporation. Give him a try, Miss P.” “RVN, huh…we’ll just call him ‘Arvin.’ Welcome to your new home, Arvin.” “Good day, ma’am.” Morgan curled her face in disappointment. The voice was pleasant, but had no accent of any kind. It was a diluted, computerized voice devoid of any human quality. “Where’s that wonderful accent the last one of you had? The Sheffield brogue?” “Ma’am, I’m programmed to have an accent clearly understood by nearly everyone on planet Earth and the nearby planets.” “…Right. Oh well, we have a busy day ahead of us, Arvin – chop, chop.”

John Groves wasn't the happy-go-lucky man that Morgan was used to when he came into her office that Thursday morning. "John - how goes it this morning?" "I figured that you'd have a glass in your hand when I came in." "John...don't over-react - it's just a spot of scotch before lunch." "I saw your interview this morning - you were on the sauce...I could tell." Morgan started to take another swig from her glass, and then set it aside with a look of guilt. "Look, John - I still get the job done. I just need a little rocket fuel to get my day started." John's look of anger turned to one of a concerned friend. "Look Morgan, the people upstairs want you to take a few days to get away and get cleaned up for a bit. They want you to go to a resort on Venus and have fun by the poolside. They're losing their patience with you." "Oh...is that how it is?" Morgan glanced over at her items in her cubbyholes; she spotted the black stone tiger her father had given her. "If I go anywhere, I want it to be Mars. I spent part of my growing up there." "Fine - they have several really nice dude ranches there. You can have some nice cowboy show you how to ride a buggalo. Even better for the publicity photos. Get some clean air." "I'm going there to see my father; he's not in the best of health. I got a call this morning." John Groves stepped back from the warpath, and became that old friend and advisor he once was. "That's fine - maybe that's the best thing for you. It's a great cover story for the press." Her face was devoid of emotion."It's more than just a cover story - he's dying." Again a pause. "That's fine - take as much time as you want. But, and I want this to be clear - I want you to lay off the sauce. Savvy?" "Savvy. I'm assuming there will be a ship standing by..." "Of course. You can take Arvin with you." "Sure. I'll be packed." "I'll let the pilot know you're on your way to Olympica City." Morgan's mind floated back to her teen years. "I can take it from there."

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"When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them." Rodney Dangerfield

"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore, always carry a small snake." W. C. Fields

As Morgan entered the old, rundown house, with its Martian storm shutters and smaller sash windows, her mind went back through the years to when she was younger. The house had been through many sandstorms, and had seen better days, but was definitely built to last - most of it was built from the dark volcanic rock that was so plenteous on Mars. Like most Martian households, small volcanic figurines of the Demon Kings adorned the front yard - a little something to keep the evil spirits at bay. As she stood in the living room reminiscing, a Martian woman came in to meet her; she addressed her in Martian. "Oh, I'm sorry - Maleeka. Mahatta e mi Affa?" The woman chuckled. "Your father is this way - I'll show you. You speak good Martian." She shifted easily into the Martian native tongue. "Thanks - I spent some time here growing up." "You must be Morgan - you're all he talks about." Morgan had to choke back a tear, but she couldn't show it. "Really?" "He's so proud of you being Bureaucrat General and all; he always watches you when you give a speech." This really pierced her through the heart. "Really?" "He's very proud." Morgan entered the room and saw her aging father Conrad. He'd lost a lot of weight since she'd seen him last, and was pretty much bedridden. His tired eyes focused on his daughter. "Squirt?" Morgan let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah...it's me, Pops." "I saw you over in Russia..." Morgan made a dismissive wave with her hand. "Oh, it wasn't all that big of a deal, Dad. The TV made it more than what it was." He reached for her hand; when he had it in his, he squeezed it with what strength he had. "Your mother would have been so proud of what you've become. Are you going to be here for long? I know you're busy..." "I'll be here for a few days...as long as you need me..." "It's good to have you around again. I still have that air-bike in the garage, if you need it to get around." Amid the tears she was choking back, Morgan Proctor let loose with a gentle laugh. "I'll go fetch it if I need it, Pops."

That next morning Morgan met with a group of Martians outside of Conrad's house; she was carrying a box of what few personal items her father left behind. A young Martian, a representative of their Chieftain, spoke for the group in his native tongue. "Machee-kacheela Miss Proctor," he said. "It is the wish of our tribe that we honor Conrad with a warrior's funeral pyre; he has been very good to our people." "I would be honored by that, as I'm sure he would. My father really didn't have much of anything; I want you to have his car and air-bike, and I want his clothes distributed to the poorest among you. I also want to thank you all for being such good friends to him." "As you wish, Matron." She glanced down at the red soil. The word Matron struck her, as she found it a deep honor to be called one on Mars...much more of an honor than being called a Bureaucrat General back on Earth. "I probably won't come back here...I'll have no reason to." The young Martian grabbed a small amount of the loose dirt, and put it into the palm of Morgan's hand. "Mars won't forget you; don't forget about us." She squeezed the young man's shoulder, as this was quite an honor. "I won't forget about you." Arvin came up to collect her in an air-car. "Will you be going back over to the ship, ma'am?" "Yes, Arvin - we're going back to the starport." Morgan felt very old and weary as she walked through the red Martian soil.

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"When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them." Rodney Dangerfield

"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore, always carry a small snake." W. C. Fields

John Groves caught up with Morgan in her office early in the morning several days later. "Hey - you look like a million bucks. You stayed away from the sauce, didn't you?" "You'll be pleased to know that I didn't have a drop to drink since I've been gone." John looked worried, pointing at a glass on the table. "It's ginger beer, John." He looked relieved. "Oh, good. So, is the Tiger Woman ready to get back to work?" "John, I've come to a very important decision in my life. And believe me, it wasn't easy. I'm resigning as Bureaucrat General." His eyes popped wide open. "You're what?" "You heard me - I'm quitting. I'm getting off the merry-go-round." John Groves looked like he'd had ice water thrown in his face. "Morgan, Morgan - if it's about pay..." "Pay? This isn't about the money. I've got more damned money than I know what to do with, seeing that every bit of food, drink and clothing is gratis for me. I've got enough money squirreled away to last me a thousand years. Hell, I don't even pay rent. The problem is that I'm not really making a difference here...I'm little more than someone's doll living in a fancy dollhouse." "But...you're going to retire?" "Retire? I have no intention of retiring. I'd curl up my toes and die if I retired - you know that. I've got to go back where things just made more sense. I've got to do something that has meaning...where I made a difference." She slid him a pile of papers across her desk. "This is my proposal." He quickly glanced over the pages. "This? You're going from here to this?" "Can you do it?" "But...I'd have to run it by the people..." "Upstairs, I know. I don't care what you have to do - can you do this? For me?" He was slack-jawed. His eyes went from the papers up to her eyes. "If this is what you want, I'm sure I can make it happen. But could you just come to Lower Volta and mediate the conflict with Macronesia before you go? No one else can do it like you - you've been asked for specifically by the Imperial Rann himself." "That's a fair exchange - I'll go and bring my 'A' game over there. But when I'm done, I'm done. Just honor this for me." "Morgan..." "Go...just go. And get this started." Groves left quickly and quietly.

A frightened Zelma Flaherty found herself summoned to that sacred place in the Bureaucracy Building known as the Crystal Palace. As soon as she walked in, Morgan met her. “Miss P, what is this all about?” Morgan walked up to her and took her badge from her uniform. “Did I do something wrong?” “Not at all. I’m replacing your badge with this one.” Zelma looked down at the badge in shock. Her beloved Grade 19 badge was now replaced with a Grade 17 one. “Miss P? I don’t understand.” “You can thank Mr. Groves for this - he was able to make it happen. You now have a better office, and more pay. And if you ask me, it was a long time in coming.” “But Miss P - they said that you’re stepping down. Where will you go?” “Zelma, you let me worry about that. Like I’ve always said, never do anything without a plan.”

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"When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them." Rodney Dangerfield

"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore, always carry a small snake." W. C. Fields

...Morgan finds herself returning back to the first love of her business life..."

Turanga Leela's frustration level rose as she found herself overwhelmed in the running of Planet Express; young Annie, Amy's daughter, could sense this as she played a video game in the corner of the office. "Where did the old man keep his parts inventory? Where?" Leela ran her fingers through her hair which was starting to turn that lighter shade of purple. "I wish I could call him...wherever he is." Little Annie stepped up to the computer. "Auntie Leela, if I may..." "Go ahead - I'm having no luck." "Mr. Farnsworth was a scientist - he would have kept these things stored like scientific equations." The little girl punched in several characters with a chubby finger. The inventory spreadsheet came to life. Leela smirked. "Smart-aleck." She flashed Leela a toothy grin, and her eyes popped wide open. "Do I get to ride in the ship again?" Leela's eye got that angry curve, and then she rubbed the girl's spiky hair. "Yeah...when we get it fixed up some more, you'll get a ride somewhere." "Yeah!" The girl pumped her arm and scrambled out of the room to brag to her mother. Leela went back to her paperwork as Hermes shadowed the door. "Miss Leela - I just got a message from the Bureaucracy that a message was going to arrive from the Bureaucracy." "Hermes...in Galactic Standard, please." "We're going to have an inspection from the Bureaucracy today." "Seriously? Now? I'm up to my eyeball in paperwork, and I don't have time to break in some newby." A woman's voice answered. "Oh, you won't have to worry about that; I know my way around pretty well." Leela looked up and saw the older bureaucrat with the white streak in her hair standing with Hermes; she cracked an unusual smile. "Morgan Proctor?"

The End

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"When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them." Rodney Dangerfield

"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore, always carry a small snake." W. C. Fields

...Morgan finds herself returning back to the first love of her business life..."

A woman's voice answered. "Oh, you won't have to worry about that; I know my way around pretty well." Leela looked up and saw the older bureaucrat with the white streak in her hair standing with Hermes; she cracked an unusual smile. "Morgan Proctor?"

"Seriously? Now? I'm up to my eyeball in paperwork, and I don't have time to break in some newby." A woman's voice answered. "Oh, you won't have to worry about that; I know my way around pretty well." Leela looked up and saw the older bureaucrat with the white streak in her hair standing with Hermes; she cracked an unusual smile. "Morgan Proctor?"

Will Morgan be more of a Hermes-style bureaucrat? We can only wait and see.

Great one, Gulliver! Next stop - retirement!

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There are 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don't.

Outstanding fan fiction! You have really fleshed Morgan out as a character.

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"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."C. S. Lewis